


Standing at the Edge of the Self

by Tamoline



Category: Annihilation (2018 Garland)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: Nothing in the Shimmer truly dies.Nothing.





	Standing at the Edge of the Self

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank toodrunkforaurl for unknowingly inspiring me to think about this pairing - especially [this artwork of hers](http://toodrunktofindaurl.tumblr.com/post/171950873851/annihilation-evolution) \- even if I very much then went on my own way.

Nothing in the Shimmer truly dies.

 

Nothing.

* * *

 

Fighting.

 

The rush of blood, both within her veins and that of her enemies, that spilled, spills, will spill onto the ground.

 

She can’t even tell if she’s biting, scratching, kicking someone else, or just herself, whether it matters or what even the difference is.

 

She has to win, she has to kill, to be killed, to be the last one left standing, to be one of the bodies lying on the ground, waiting to be consumed, to start the battle all over again.

 

(She has to protect… protect *something*, whispers a small voice within her, but she can’t make herself really care about that at all.)

 

It’s… it’s… exhilarating.

 

(It’s a drug.)

 

It’s all she’s ever wanted.

 

(No.)

 

It’s everything.

 

(No.)

 

And then the world, catches, caught, will catch fire and then, after one brief flare more concentrated than a thousand simultaneous orgasms, it’s quiet.

* * *

After the Shimmer catches fire, after the distortion disappears, all is quiet.

 

For a time.

 

And the wind blows the ash from the Shimmer far and wide.

* * *

The last thing Anya does before she dies is try to crawl away from the monster’s mouth, try to escape.

 

But the last thing she thinks of doing, as she’s sinking down into the darkness, is fighting. That she should be pushing herself up and…

 

And…

 

She needs to fight.

 

She needs to fight.

 

She needs…

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

She fights.

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

She fights, even though its hopeless, even as the teeth close around her neck and…

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

She fights, even as the bullet enters her furred body…

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

She fights.

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

Hitting Lena - the *liar* - is easy. 

 

Ventriss too. She had to have known. The way this is all just another game to her… The way she obviously doesn’t care about what had happened to Cass…

 

Yeah, actually hitting Ventriss is easier if anything.

 

And tying them both up has a hard satisfaction to it. Maybe when they are as helpless as… as Cass had been, they’ll finally give her some fucking answers.

 

But Josie…

 

Anya looks down at Josie as she twitches — always so nervous, even in her sleep — and has to steel herself. She has to do this, has to restrain Josie, because if she doesn’t…

 

Josie will interfere. Anya knows this. And the overriding need to get some *answers* from these fucking *liars* drives every other consideration out of her head.

 

She composes herself, tries to make it look as though she could hurt Josie even with this combined fear/anger pound-pound-pounding away in her chest, and shakes her awake.

 

“Get up,” she does her best to snarl. “Get up and sit on that chair so I can tie you up.”

 

Josie has half scuttled away even before she has woken up, squinting up at her. “Anya?” she whispers, distressed, obviously still not quite sure what’s going on.

 

Anya doesn’t close her eyes, doesn’t look away, even though she really wants to. She’s doing this for Josie, doing this for Cass, doing this for all of them, really.

 

She’s not going to let anyone else die, even if she has to inflict a few bruises to get there.

 

She checks again to make sure the safety is on, then levels her rifle at Josie. “Get up,” she repeats. “It’s time to get some fucking answers around here.”

* * *

She almost fights, almost springs towards the much larger intruder, the monster, even though it’ll probably mean her death, but… but… but…

 

Her friend, lying bloody beside it. She saw her twitch.

 

She’s still alive.

 

She has to… she has to…

 

(Hush, a voice whispers to her, and it’s not her own.)

 

She hasn’t got anything that can hurt it, not really, but…

 

(Distract it, the voice says, and it’s the first thing that seems really right in *forever*.)

 

She springs out of where she’s crouched amongst the food, dashes past it, close enough to distract the monster but hopefully far enough away that she can escape.

 

Hopefully.

 

She ducks and dives, tries to use what cover she can.

 

But.

 

But… she feels the monster’s teeth dig into her, grasping her, cracking her bones. She wriggles around as frantically as she can, trying to, trying to, trying to do *something*, but she can’t, but she’s helpless…

 

Until she’s dropped.

 

Gasping on the floor. 

 

Bleeding.

 

The monster looks down on her, its expression something that she almost recognises, just for a moment.

 

Something almost… almost…

 

(It’s a dog, something in her finally recognises. The giant monster is a dog.)

 

(But the expression, the *pity*, that was something…)

 

(Something somehow far more familiar.)

 

She staggers to her feet, does her best to totter off. She’s not going to stay here.

 

If she’s dying then she’s not going to do it here, *pitied*.

 

At first the monster follows her, but after she stops, *glares* at it, dares it to keep on like that, it ducks its head almost bashfully then wanders off, in another direction.

 

She staggers for as long as she can, crawls when she can no longer stand. She somehow manages to make it back to her friend. She can’t tell whether or not she’s breathing. 

 

Hopes she is. 

 

Lies still.

 

Concentrates on just breathing in, breathing out for as long as she can, dying amongst the grain she’d been eating a short time before.

 

And, as she does, an odd clarity comes over her, likes she’s not just the rat she’s always just… been.

 

Like she’s more.

 

Like she’s always been more.

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

This is the day the spindly monsters going to take her friends away.

 

To feed, to fatten, to slaughter.

 

(Not her, she somehow knows, but the others. Her friends.)

 

(Hush, she remembers someone saying.)

 

(Calm, she remembers as someone touches her gently.)

 

And she manages to hang on to that, until she sees her friends starting to be led away.

 

No, she attempts to say, but her words become mixed up, alien, end up a sharp grunting that’s almost an imitation of the noises the aliens might make.

 

No, she attempts again as she approaches her friends, but all she manages to indicate is her distress, causing them to flick their ears nervously and move forward faster if anything.

 

One of the spindly aliens moves up to her, slowly, calmingly, arm raised to push at her shoulder, to move her away, back towards the others who are staying.

 

No.

 

Not today.

 

She’s not going to let the spindly monsters take her friends today.

 

She steps quickly backwards, unlike she somehow knows he’s expecting, then forwards, towards him.

 

He’s definitely not expecting that, she thinks with some satisfaction as she butts him in the chest, hard enough to make him fall over, to put him in a position where he’s vulnerable.

 

The other spindly monsters are making loud noises now, arms flapping in distress, but she ignores them, concentrates on the one on the ground in front of her. 

 

She raises her hoof and…

 

(Stop, a voice says inside of her.) And… and… she listens for once, pauses and just looks down at the monster in front her, his chest heaving in panic.

 

There’s a loud bang and a sharp pain to her side. Somehow, she knows it’s the spindly monsters. She turns around and…

 

Bang,

 

She charges.

 

Most of her friends are fleeing, running away.

 

But three of them aren’t. Three are running straight at the monsters and, somehow, she knows they have the same expressions as her.

 

Somehow she knows that they share more than that.

 

And as the next bangs sound, she shows them how true cows die.

* * *

Blackness.

* * *

When the red haze fades from Kayla’s vision, she starts to shake.

 

There’s stomped on rat smeared all over the alley.

 

She’s heard… everyone’s heard of the weird animal attacks happening all over the state, heard of weird breakdowns that *people* have been starting to have but…

 

But it’s a lot different when a bona fide rat attack happens in front of her.

 

It’s different when it’s her that gets… possessed by a raw animal fury that didn’t feel like hers at all. Even if she has been feeling a bit off, a bit more emotional generally, the last few weeks.

 

It’s different when…

 

Oh, *fuck*. Lydia.

 

She spins around to see Lydia lying on the ground in a slowly growing pool of her own blood.

 

Oh.

 

Oh no.

 

The fury rises again, but there’s nothing but rat carcasses to direct it towards. Nothing she can do except…

 

“Anya,” Lydia whispers and it’s not her name - it’s *not*, she doesn’t even know someone by that name - but…

 

But something inside her recognises it regardless, and it cuts through the rage as though it weren’t there, dragging her towards Lydia almost involuntarily.

 

She doesn’t know anything about first aid, is honestly a little surprised that she isn’t fainting at the sight of so much of it…

 

But her body doesn’t seem to realise that she doesn’t know anything about this as her knees bend so she can look at Lydia closer, her hands go over her semi-conscious form, identify which bites are superficial and which are actually bleeding seriously…

 

But blood is still leaking out of her, and her usually rich skin is looking far too grey and the leaping inside her stomach keeps on getting worse, and her hands are starting to shake…

 

(Calm, says a voice with an English accent that still sounds a little like Lydia. Think.)

 

Oh.

 

Whilst keeping what pressure she can with one hand, she takes out her phone with her other and dials 911.

 

Lydia’s eyes close. “Well done,” she says weakly. “Welcome back,” she mutters just before she lapses into unconsciousness.

 

And, as Kayla waits for the ambulance, *prays* they’ll get there before, before, before…

 

She can’t help but think that Lydia wasn’t talking to her.

 

Not exactly.

* * *

Josie drains the remains of her beer before slamming down the bottle and giggling - giggling - at Anya. “C’mon,” she says, reaching over the table to drape her hand over Anya’s. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

She’s so bright and beautiful that it’s hard for Anya to look at her, let alone *think* about this, but Anya somehow manages to summon up the willpower to ask, “Are you sure?” It’s not that she isn’t willing, eager even — it’s certainly not that Anya hasn’t been idly flirting with her over the last few weeks since they met, even if she’d pretty much given up hope of anything more than blushes and pleased smile in return —it’s just that this is not the Josie she’s come to know. 

 

Josie pushes up from her seat, pinning Anya’s hand to the table as she leans over the table so she can look Anya directly in the face - not to mention giving Anya a guiltily welcome look down her top - and lifts her chin up with her other hand. “Eyes up here, Ms Thorensen. Never thought you’d be one to be all talk,” she drawls, and, okay, Anya’s never been good at saying no to beautiful women.

 

The remnants of the beer mixed with Josie’s lips are far too potent a combination to resist, and she finds herself moaning with embarrassingly little game. She brings her free hand and twines in Josie’s gloriously thick hair. As she pulls it, just a little, Josie shivers just enough to leave Anya feeling a little smug - before attacking her lips and mouth again with renewed fervour, and Anya still isn’t quite sure how Josie - quiet, shy Josie - is leaving her on quite such the back foot here.

 

It’s… wow, she just leans in and tried to keep up… until the whoops and cheers from the other tables make her realise that… oh, shit.

 

Regretfully she leans back, breaking contact. Josie blinks for a moment, looking confused and Anya looks away before she can see her expression change, to horror or embarrassment. There’s *no* way that Josie can want this, not like this and certainly not here. She must have had more to drink — or be more of a lightweight — than Anya had realised.

 

“Fuck you,” she says to the spectators, getting up, giving them the finger, attempting cheeriness, trying to make herself the centre of attention. “You just wish that you were this irresistible.”

 

She feels Josie taking her hand and she looks almost hesitantly towards her. Josie’s still wearing that bright smile, only now, oh god, her lips are kiss swollen and her hair is messy where Anya grabbed it. Anya hadn’t thought that she could look any better and yet…

 

She really has to make sure. “Are you really sure that you haven’t, you know… had a bit too much to drink?” If anyone’s an expert on making supremely shitty decisions whilst drunk, it’s Anya, and she’s not going to let that happen to Josie as well.

 

Josie looks at her from under her eyelashes. “Why, Ms Thorensen, would you like me to solve a complex equation just to prove I am not, as they say, impaired?” And even Josie should not be able to make math sound as sexy as she does. She starts walking her fingers up Anya’s arm. Anya shivers. “I’m not sure about a lot of things, but when I do know what I want…” She moves closer, like she’s going to kiss Anya again, but holds off an inch or two away. “I go for it.” Suddenly she looks uncertain — the Josie that Anya’s gotten to know peeking out of her suddenly downcast eyes and stiff huddled shoulders. “Unless I’ve been misreading things… sorry,” she almost mumbles.

 

And no, no, no, that is not what Josie should be feeling. Not ever, and certainly not tonight.

 

“Hey,” Anya says, ducking down to meet Josie’s eyes. “It’s not that I’m not interested — not that you aren’t apparently mindblowingly sexy when you want to be. It’s just… I’m not an asshole. I wanted to be completely sure you wanted this, okay.”

 

Josie gives her a little smile in return. “Okay.”

 

And, well, Anya isn’t a woman of stone.  She leans in and kisses her lightly. “Trust me, I was giving you all those outs despite everything my body was trying to tell me.” She kisses her again.

 

When she leans back, Josie is smiling more confidently at her. “Is that so, Ms Thorensen?”

 

And, oh fuck, Anya really hope that her body doesn’t start reacting that way to anyone *else* saying her surname.

* * *

Afterwards, Josie flops on Anya’s bed and shows no inclination to move, or even remain conscious. And, honestly, Anya doesn’t have the heart to even try and change that, feeling soft and mellow and liquid curled up around her on the really too narrow mattress.

 

It’s probably going to be uncomfortable come morning, but Anya figures that problem can wait until then.

 

It’s been a while since she’s actually had sex, for all the blatant flirting she indulges in. A while more since it was with someone she actually kind of likes.

 

Though she’d really rather not think about how that ended, so instead she idly plays with Josie’s hair, then lightly strokes her fingers down Josie’s body. It reignites a gentle heat in her -- not hot enough for her to necessarily want to do anything more, though she wouldn’t argue if Josie woke up and wanted to play -- but… nice.

 

Josie murmurs something indistinct in her sleep and -- not sure if it was protest or not -- Anya abandons the downwards trail of her fingers. The size of the bed being what it is, it isn’t as though she can precisely not wrap herself around Josie to some extent -- not if she wants to remain on the bed, and as she anchors her arms around Josie, her fingers encounter lines on Josie’s arms.

 

Scars.

 

Suddenly not sleepy at all, not pleasantly warm in the slightest, Anya looks at them closer. Light parallel lines covering the inside of both of the upper parts of her forearms.

 

Oh fuck. Josie was a cutter. Anya sprung up from the bed as though she’d been bitten.

 

It’s… it didn’t mean that she’d end up the way that Katie had. 

 

But Anya’s an addict. She’s not in a place where  she can look after anyone else. 

 

She just isn’t. 

 

There’s no way that Anya’d be good for Josie. She might even make things worse.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

And then there’s the fact that they’ll both be going into the Shimmer in far too little a time. How could she even thinking of fucking things up like this?

 

Josie mutters again, then shifts to look up her sleepily, her slowly wakening face a beautiful thing.

 

Oh yes. Anya hadn’t exactly been thinking.

 

“Is it morning already?” Josie mumbles.

 

“We can’t do this,” Anya blurts out.

 

Josie blinks. “What?”

 

“Sex. We shouldn’t have done it. It was a mistake.”

 

Confusion, then shock, then hurt cycles through Josie’s expression, and she shrinks in on herself. “Anya?” she asks, almost pleading.

 

“I’m sorry,” Anya says, throwing on some clothes then backing out of her room.

 

Fuck.

* * *

Lydia’s sleeping when Kayla steps into her hospital room, and Kayla can’t help envying her a little. She spent last night sleepless, too wrapped up in whether Lydia would be okay, and what the hell was going with herself to relax enough to drift off.

 

Not that relaxing necessarily seemed like the best idea. There’s movement under the skin of her mind; who knows where it will end up?

 

Who knows what will happen if she lets go long enough to actually rest?

 

She drags her mind away from circling back into that drain, concentrating on Lydia instead. She’s still looking pale, but so much better than she had in that alleyway yesterday, and with a feeling like Kayla’s just been punched in the chest, she realises quite how beautiful Lydia is, with her curly chestnut hair and familiar, dear, features.

 

Lydia’s been her best friend for so long, and she’s always known she’s pretty… but not like this. She finds herself reaching forward to brush the hair from Lydia’s face… which is apparently just enough to wake her up. Kayla snatches her hand away before it could seem weird.

 

And, oh, if she thought that Lydia was beautiful before, this feels like a million times so.

 

“Hey,” Lydia says, her voice rough.

 

Kayla can feel her cheeks get hot, and really hopes that her dark skin is hiding this. “Hey,” she says. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Like I was nibbled by a whole swarm of rats,” Lydia says, attempting dryness but sounding a little wobbly beneath that.

 

Kayla reaches over and hugs her. “I wouldn’t say a swarm… maybe half a dozen or so at most.”

 

Lydia shudders. “Thanks for that.”

 

Kayla draws back and gives Lydia her best smile. “Hey, don’t worry. You’ve got Kayla, Rat Stomper here to protect you.” Lydia smiles a little and, encouraged, Kayla adds, “I feel like a starting character in pretty much any rpg.”

 

“Kayla has levelled up,” Lydia intones and Kayla feels another wave of affection wash over her.

 

She can’t believe that she almost lost Lydia yesterday. She can’t believe that she’s having these feelings for her best friend. For a girl, for that matter.

 

Has she always had these feelings? Are they just a product of the shock?

 

Are they more of the changes she’s been going through?

 

She stops herself before she disappears too far down that rabbit hole. 

 

They feel right, they feel real. They feel like something she has to say now, because tomorrow might be too late.

 

“Hey,” she says, “I know this is a really lousy time to bring this up but…” she shrugs, “I think I might really like you. As my best friend of course, but also…”

 

Lydia looks completely dumbfounded, but maybe, Kayla thinks, with a little hope. “R-“ she breaks off, clears her throat, tries again. “Really?”

 

Kayla shrugs again. “I think so? I don’t know. I just had to say something now because…” Now it’s the turn of her throat to close up, this time with tears.

 

“Hey,” Lydia says, reaching over, holding her wrist gently. “We don’t have to talk about it today.” She smiles encouragingly at Kayla. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

 

“You better be,” Kayla mutters, flipping her hand to lace her fingers with Lydia’s, then searches her face. “You won’t let me just not talk about this?” Because, Lord knows, that’s pretty much always Kayla’s favoured option.

 

Lydia gives out a little surprised laugh. “Promise,” she says, then attempts a crooked smile. “If you think that I’m *ever* going to let you forget this…”

 

“Hey,” Kayla protests grumpily.

 

“Maybe you should think about what you want to talk about after you’ve had some sleep,” Lydia says gently. “You look worse than I feel, and that’s saying something.”

 

Kayla shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Can’t sleep. Don’t know what will happen.”

 

Lydia squeezes her hand gently. “Sleep here then. I’ll look after you.”

 

“Promise?” Kayla asks, but her head is already bowing to the sheets of Lydia’s bed, and she can’t seem to keep her eyes open.

 

“Promise,” Lydia says, stroking her hair.

 

And the last thing Kayla thinks before sleep claims her is that… even if these feelings are just a product of the… weirdness, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

 

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad at all.

* * *

And Kayla dreams.

 

Kayla is walking with a woman that she doesn’t recognise, only she does. The world is bright around them, but hard to focus on at the same time.

 

And Kayla is not Kayla, her skin too light, her body doesn’t feel right… until she forgets that she’s Kayla and not Anya.

 

“There you are,” the woman, Josie, says to her.

 

Anya looks around frantically for a threat. For a moment, the world snaps into focus as she sees the bear coming right for her, then Josie reaches out and grabs her wrist, and suddenly all Anya can see is her.

 

“Calm down,” Josie says. “Take a breath.”

 

Anya does, and the world softens again. “What’s… are you fine?”

 

Josie tilts her head. “I guess it depends on what you mean by fine. But I’m at peace.”

 

“What happened?” Anya tries to remember, but her memory is a mass of gaps, brief, barely connected scenes. But she remembers Josie, at least, holds onto her, tries to build out from there.

 

“Your body died,” Josie says bluntly. “But nothing truly dies in the Shimmer, nothing is ever created or destroyed. And you… parts of you, went into the ecosystem. And you’ve been spreading out ever since.”

 

“Oh,” Anya says, feeling weak. “Oh.”

 

“I’ve been looking for you ever since,” Josie says. “Parts of me, looking for parts of you. Though thankfully there are ways of spreading *apart* from working your way up the food chain.”

 

“Food chain?” Anya asks, then remembers the blood and the violence, the death and the death and the death. She abruptly feels like throwing up, then chokes and coughs up blood and feathers and fur, Josie stroking her back all the time.

 

“Let it out,” Josie says, “Let it out.” She wears a smile so calm and peaceful that Anya feels like she could just curl and sleep in it. “I’ve been trying to get you to remember parts of yourself apart from the anger..?”

 

“Some,” Anya says. “Some of the parts with you in them.”

 

“Oh,” Josie says, seeming pleased. “That’s good. Every time part of me finds part of you… we’re never going to be whole, but there’s different parts we can focus on.”

 

“Why?” Anya asks. “Why us? Why is this happening to just us?”

 

Josie regards her with sympathy. “Oh, it’s not just you. It’s not just you at all.” She takes hold of Anya with both hands, and with a whispering feeling, Anya feels Josie all around her, binding them together like a hundred vines. “Empty your thoughts, and *listen*…”

 

Anya tries her best to follow Josie’s instructions and…

 

And…

 

And…

 

There are so *many* voices within her. Insects and rodents and dogs and cows and *so* many creatures explode out of her, would have torn her to rags without Josie binding her together, binding them together.

 

Josie’s lips move, and Anya shouldn’t be able to hear her, but she can.

 

“None of us will ever be alone again.”

* * *

Anya, to put it mildly, has been going a little stir crazy ever since she arrived at the base, and it’s only gotten worse as time went on. It doesn’t help that as t minus expedition approached zero, most of what friendly acquaintances she had managed to make found other things to do with their time. Blah blah blah, dead woman walking and all that.

 

Shows how much they know. Anya has no intention of dying out there.

 

But, hey, there’s new blood today. There a woman, pretty, sitting in the corner of the canteen all alone, reading a book, huddled in on herself like she could just disappear if she tries hard enough.

 

But Anya’s nothing if not an optimist.

 

“Hey,” she says, taking the seat opposite her. “Mind if I join you?”

 

The woman looks shyly over her book at her, but doesn’t say anything immediately back.

 

“Name’s Anya,” she says, giving the woman a smile. “Please feel free to tell me shove off if you don’t feel like company.”

 

The woman looks like she’s giving the idea some serious thought, and Anya’s just about to get up and leave — she really does try not to be an asshole — when she finally answers. “Hi, I’m Josie,” she says in an English accent that — Anya’s not going to lie — makes her feel a little weak.

 

Encouraged by this, Anya makes small talk with Josie, finding out she's also been recruited for the expedition, that she’s a physicist recently graduated from Cambridge and few bits and bobs about her life, slowly easing her out of that almost nervous reserve.

 

“So. The big question:” she says, flashing Josie the biggest grin she can manage. “Are you single?”

 

Josie actually laughs, and, okay, definitely worth getting shot down if she’s managed to get this from her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asks, eyes flashing just a little bit.

 

“Yeah,” Anya says, laughing along with her. “I guess I would.”


End file.
